Chapter One

W e s t e r n P e n n s y lva n i a
1831

Annabelle Tyler may have hoped she would marry again someday,
but she never dreamed she would be wearing handcuffs during
the ceremony when she did.
Scarcely thirty-six hours after leaving Hanover, Pennsylvania,
to forge a respectable future for herself, she barely listened to the
man next to her as he grumbled his vows. She was still struggling
to make sense of the frightening turn of events that had led her
here, to this nondescript minister’s cottage in a small rural hamlet
where she knew absolutely no one.
Despite the sheriff’s coat around her shoulders and the hearty
fire burning in the small parlor, Annabelle shivered with cold
that had penetrated every bone in her body. She glanced up at
the man by her side. Harrison Graymoor had been a complete

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stranger to her until only yesterday, but the ordeal they had
endured together had taken its toll.
His finely tailored vest and cambric shirt were badly soiled
with the same dirt and grime that stained her travel gown, and
exhaustion had painted dark circles beneath his ebony eyes. His
determined fight to prevent this marriage had now been replaced
by a resignation that surprised her, since he had far more at stake
by marrying than she did. The grim reality that he was being
forced into this marriage, however, had erased his rakish smile
and the surprisingly deep dimples in his cheeks, but he held his
head high when he finally gritted, “I do.”
She swayed a bit, locked her knees, and dropped her gaze. She
had not eaten since the day before yesterday, and she used every
last bit of her waning strength to keep standing on her own two
feet, if only to maintain a modicum of dignity in front of the four
men who were witnessing this mockery of a ceremony. When she
adjusted the heavy coat about her shoulders, she inadvertently
yanked the short chain on the metal cuff on her right wrist that
kept her linked to Harrison.
She froze instinctively, and his hiss of pain distracted her
from the minister’s monotone recitation of the vows she was
supposed to pledge. When she looked down, she saw a fresh
trickle of blood ooze down the back of his hand from beneath
the too-small cuff that dug deep into his swollen left wrist. She
quickly averted her gaze, but not before she got a glimpse of the
end of the rifle barrel nudged against his back. “I didn’t mean to
hurt you again,” she whispered. “I-I’m sorry.”
“The proper response is ‘I will’ or ‘I do,’ ” Reverend Wood
admonished, as if she had been speaking to him.
When she turned her attention back to the minister, she
wondered if he could see anything more than a few inches in
front of his face, since his eyes were so clouded by age.
“I’m still waiting for you to recite your vows and acknowledge

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them,” he demanded, clearly annoyed that he had been dragged

from his bed shortly before dawn to marry them.
One of the two men standing directly to her left edged closer
in an unspoken warning to cooperate, reinforced as the two men
on Harrison’s side nudged him closer to her. Determined not
to utter any words that would seal her union to Mr. Graymoor,
she took a deep breath to gather up the last of her rapidly fad-
ing strength. Now that it appeared she had no other choice, she
swallowed her pride and decided she had to admit she was not
the maiden they believed her to be. “Please. Just let me explain.
There’s no need to force this man to marry me.”
The minister’s voice hardened with impatience. “Do you or
do you not recognize the scandalous nature of your situation
and the attempt we’re all making on your behalf to salvage your
reputation?” he snapped.
“I’m a God-fearing woman of faith, and I’m telling you that
nothing improper happened,” she insisted, repeating the claim
she had made to the four men when they had rescued her, as
well as Harrison, less than an hour ago. “I give you my word.”
Harrison cleared his throat. “I’m afraid it’s not your word and
your character that are in question. It’s mine.”
She looked up at him and frowned. “That may be, but my
future’s at stake, too,” she quipped before turning her attention
back to the minister again and softening her voice. “The men
who stopped our stage robbed us, handcuffed us together, and
left us tied to the stagecoach while they escaped with the driver
and all of our possessions. It’s not Mr. Graymoor’s fault or mine
that it took a full day and night to find us. Mr. Graymoor was a
complete gentleman and quite concerned for my well-being the
entire time,” she insisted, remaining silent about his attempts to
flirt with her when they first boarded the stage or the fact that
the robbers would never have robbed the stage if he had not
been aboard in the first place.

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The sheriff snorted. “Harrison Graymoor may be exceed-

ingly wealthy, but he’s also a cad and a libertine who needs to be
held accountable for his outrageous behavior, particularly with
women. His reputation, I assure you, is well-known far beyond
Philadelphia, where he resides.”
“We’re far from Philadelphia, and we should all avoid gos-
sip that no one here can confirm,” she argued, but she was also
relieved they were a far cry from Four Corners, the small town
where she had become equally infamous.
The minister nodded. “I’m retired from active ministry now,
but I’m not a hermit. I recognize the family name, as well as
this man’s reputation,” he informed them and looked directly
at Annabelle. “The sheriff told me he found you lying in this
man’s arms after spending the night with him alone. Are you
now disputing that fact, or is it true?”
She blushed, although she could not remember exactly how
or when she had ended up cuddled against his side during the
night. “Yes, it’s true,” she admitted, “but the weather had turned
exceedingly cold again and the thieves had stolen my cloak as well
as his coat. Mr. Graymoor eventually freed us from the ropes they
used to bind us to the stagecoach, but there was nothing he could
do to remove the handcuffs,” she explained, still ridden with guilt
for injuring Harrison when she tried to do just that. “We tried
walking to find help, but a thunderstorm forced us back to the
stagecoach for shelter. By then, we were both drenched and—”
“And this wretched man used this poor woman’s distress to
his sinful advantage.” The man directly to her left squared his
shoulders and took a step forward. “My name is James Jenkins.
One of Graymoor’s country estates is near my home in Chad’s
Landing. My wife, Camille, went to work there when he showed
up four months ago, and this man . . . this man . . . seduced her,”
he murmured, repeating the charges he had made to the sheriff
earlier.

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“I did no such thing,” Harrison argued in a low voice that

was just as authoritative as it had been earlier when he’d tried to
reason with Jenkins and the sheriff. “I did not seduce Mrs. Jenkins,
and I did not seduce Miss Tyler.”
“He gave this to my wife,” Jenkins charged, pulling an intri-
cate gold bracelet from his pocket and dangling it in front of
the minister, who leaned his face so far forward to see it that
Annabelle wondered how he kept his balance. “What sort of
man gives a married woman an expensive gift like this unless
he’s seduced her?”
The minister pulled back and pursed his lips. “Mr. Graymoor?”
Harrison shrugged. “It was a parting trinket to thank her for
her work as a temporary member of my staff. Nothing more.”
Jenkins shoved the bracelet back into his pocket. “You gave
it to her to assuage your conscience, although I’m surprised you
have one,” he charged and drew in deep breaths of air as his cheeks
reddened with the shame of his wife’s betrayal.
“I did not seduce your wife, and she did not betray you. Not
with me,” Harrison argued.
Sheriff Taylor shook his head and addressed the minister.
“I’m afraid Mr. Graymoor’s reputation as a womanizer makes it
difficult, if not impossible, to take him at his word. Not where
women are concerned.”
The minister cleared his throat, effectively ending the discus-
sion. “Perhaps if Mr. Graymoor were to be married to a ‘God-
fearing woman of faith,’ ” he said firmly, using Annabelle’s own
words against them both, “she might inspire him to lead a life
of honor befitting the name he carries. More importantly, Miss
Tyler should not bear the burden of having her reputation or
her name sullied—”
“There is no burden,” Annabelle argued, tilting up her chin.
Although she was weakened by fatigue as well as frustration, she
could not overlook the absurdity of the predicament she was in

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or the fact she was actually handcuffed to the man she was being
forced to marry. Handcuffed!
“Even the appearance of impropriety demands that you be
protected. If you were a married woman, that would be a matter
for Sheriff Taylor to address. You are, however, a single woman,
and it is a matter for me to remedy,” he insisted and turned to
Harrison. “Are you prepared to fulfill the vows you have already
pledged or do you rescind them?”
Harrison sighed. “No. I do not rescind them,” he murmured
and arched his back as if the barrel of the rifle had been pressed
harder.
“And you, Miss Tyler, will you accept this man as your lawful
husband and be faithful to the vows I’ve already recited for you?”
She swallowed hard. She was only twenty-four years old. She
could hardly believe that all the hopes she had had for the future
would be gone once she married this stranger, but she was too
disillusioned and too exhausted to argue anymore. Holding tight
to her faith in God, if only to give strength to her belief that He
was totally in charge of the new path her life was taking, she let
out a long sigh and finally uttered the words the minister wanted
her to say. “I . . . I will.”
“Then as a minister of the Word, I now declare that you are
man and wife. Go in peace, together, to serve Him in this world
in order to rejoice with Him for all of eternity. Now then, would
you like to kiss your bride, Mr. Graymoor?”
Harrison held up the handcuffs that still bound them together.
“I believe my wife and I would like these handcuffs removed
before I consider anything else,” he countered.
When she nodded her agreement, the minister smiled for the
first time that morning. “There’s a blacksmith not more than a
few miles from the inn, which is about five miles farther away,”
he offered. “Sheriff, I trust you’ll deliver Mr. and Mrs. Graymoor

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there? They’re obviously both in need of nourishment as well as

rest before they continue their journey.”
“I will indeed.”
“Then once the marriage certificate is duly signed, you can
all be on your way.” He walked over to a small table in the corner
of the room and signed the paper lying there. One of the men
who had helped Sheriff Taylor rescue them signed right after the
sheriff, who ordered all three of his companions to go outside
to ready the horses.
In turn, the minister motioned Annabelle and Harrison to
come to the table. “While you two sign this marriage certificate,
I’ve got to record the marriage in my book, which I’ve left in the
other room. Sheriff, perhaps you could ask one of your men to
saddle up my horse for Mr. and Mrs. Graymoor to ride. Joshua
Lawrence, down at the inn, will see that it’s returned,” he said
before taking his leave.
As Annabelle and Harrison slowly made their way to the
table, she took great care to make certain she did not pull on the
chain that bound them together. Under the sheriff’s watchful
gaze, they each signed the document, and she noted the crooked
scrawl the minister had managed to write.
“Wait here. I’ll be back to get you both as soon as we have
your horse ready,” the sheriff ordered before he left them alone
for the first time since they had been rescued.
Once the ink dried, she folded the certificate, planning to add
it to the few things she had been able to hide from the thieves
by storing them in a cotton pouch she had pinned to her che-
mise. She also pressed her arm to her side to make certain the
knitting stick she had convinced the thieves to let her keep was
still at her waist. “There was no need for you to be saddled with
me as your wife. Why didn’t you argue with those men more?”
she whispered.
“I seem to recall having the barrel of a rifle planted in the

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small of my back, in case you didn’t notice,” he replied. But there

was just a hint of that twinkle back in his eyes as he snatched the
certificate out of her hand and stored it beneath his vest.
“But we didn’t do anything wrong. I mean . . . you didn’t . . .
we didn’t . . .” Unable to put such a delicate matter into words,
she dropped her gaze and hoped her cheeks were not as red as
she feared they were.
“No, we didn’t. Your virtue is intact, which is another reason
why I didn’t need to waste precious time arguing with men who
weren’t prepared to listen to anything either one of us had to
say. Once we get these handcuffs removed, get something to eat
and some well-deserved rest, we’ll travel straight to Philadelphia,
where I can have this marriage annulled.”
“You’re certain we should arrive within a day or two?”
He nodded. “You won’t miss that appointment of yours,” he
promised, and she was pleased that he recognized how important
it was for her to arrive before the deadline. “When I meet with
my lawyer to get the annulment proceedings started, I’ll also
have him draw up a settlement for you.”
Annabelle shook her head. “That won’t be necessary.”
“I rather think it is,” he argued. “At the very least, you’ll need
to replace what the thieves stole from you, which I assure you I
can easily afford to do.” He smiled when she nodded reluctantly.
“Are you absolutely certain there won’t be a problem obtain-
ing a quick annulment?”
He shrugged. “Since our marriage never has and never will
be consummated, I should expect it will be rather easy to obtain
within a month or so,” he said, using an authoritative tone that
invited no argument from her. “Granted, it may be a bit awkward
for both of us for a while, but the annulment should be granted
so quickly, no one need ever learn we were married at all.”
“There are more than a few people who already know we’re
married, and Reverend Wood is recording it in his book as we

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speak,” she reminded him, worried that he was either overcon-

fident or merely accustomed to getting what he wanted because
of his immense wealth that everyone else had mentioned.
“We’ll never see any of these people again. Even if their gos-
sip spreads to the city, I’ve learned that rumors quickly disap-
pear when no proof emerges,” he countered. “Don’t worry. I’m
absolutely certain I can have our marriage annulled. When I do,
it will be as if it never existed at all, legally speaking,” he said
as he led her closer to the fire to share one last bit of warmth
before they ventured outside again into the freezing cold that
had blanketed the area for most of November. “If all else fails, of
course, I can always petition for a divorce, which will be a first
for anyone in my family.”
A chill raced up the length of her spine, and she trembled.
“I’m afraid it won’t be the first time. Not for me,” she whispered
so softly she barely heard her own words.
At least this time she knew the man she had married was a
womanizer before they were wed.

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 Chapter Two

For half a heartbeat, Annabelle feared that the young blacksmith

would refuse to remove the handcuffs, even though Sheriff Taylor
had given his assurances that there was no legal reason the newly
married couple had been handcuffed together in the first place.
Once the sheriff left to make arrangements for them to stay
at the inn, Matthew Owens reluctantly started to perform the
task, but only after she had added a plea of her own. Holding
a chisel in one hand and a mallet of some sort in the other, he
looked directly at Harrison. “Are you quite certain you want these
handcuffs removed, sir? Might be a good way to keep an eye on
this new wife of yours. I’d be willing to bet my finest horse that
your missus will be quite a looker. Once she’s cleaned up, that
is,” he teased.
Annabelle blew away a wisp of blond hair that had fallen
across her face, along with the man’s audacious compliment,
and glared at him, hoping Harrison would say something to the
impudent young man to defend her honor. With her wavy hair
in disarray and her travel gown carrying enough dirt and grime
to double its weight, she did not need anyone to remind her how

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bad she looked at the moment. In point of fact, she could scarcely
imagine that a full month of hot baths would even thaw out her
bones, let alone get her clean again.
Much to her relief, Harrison snorted his displeasure. “Your
cavalier comment about my wife is both unwarranted and unwel-
come,” he said firmly.
“I-I’m sorry, ma’am. I . . . I meant no disrespect, sir,” Owens
stammered.
Harrison lifted up his left wrist, forcing her to lift her arm as
well, and laid the chain links in the center of the anvil that stood
between them and the blacksmith. He tugged back the cuff on
his shirt to reveal the narrow U-shaped metal band, held in place
by a metal pin with a lock at one end, that was far too small for
his wrist. “I should hope that if common sense does not dictate
your full cooperation, this nasty wound will be reason enough
to comply with our very simple request. Now unless the sheriff
made a mistake in thinking you’d be willing to help us, I suggest
you break these cuffs apart and remove them. Immediately,” he
ordered.
“Y-yes sir. Right away. I’m not quite certain if I can remove
them, but I can separate the links in the chain easily enough,” he
said as he carefully arranged and rearranged the three links lying
on the anvil. When he was apparently satisfied, he looked up at
both of them. “Just . . . just hold very still. And keep the chain
lax,” he urged, forcing Annabelle and Harrison to step closer
together before he started working on breaking one of the links
in the chain.
Annabelle turned her head to avoid seeing what would hap-
pen if he missed his mark and flinched when he struck each blow
to the links. Although it was merely uncomfortable for her to feel
the vibrations absorbed by the metal cuff around her wrist, she
could only imagine how painful it must have been for Harrison.
“There. You’re separated, once and for all,” he announced,

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placing his tools back onto a small table he had moved next to
the anvil.
“Hardly,” Annabelle quipped as she flexed her wrist. She had
no idea exactly how long it would take before an annulment
legally freed her from the man whose name she reluctantly car-
ried, but she held on to his promise that it would only be a mat-
ter of a month or two. Satisfied that the narrow band of metal
around her wrist had done nothing more than chafe at her flesh
a bit, she felt a pang of true regret when she saw Harrison step
away from her and cradle his wrist in the palm of his other hand.
The young blacksmith looked directly at Harrison. “The cuffs
themselves are next. Ladies first?”
When Harrison nodded, Owens wiped the anvil with the tip
of his apron. “If you could rest your wrist here, ma’am, I’d like
to take a look at the lock before I try to bust it.”
She complied and watched closely as he turned the U-shaped
band until the pin was perpendicular to the anvil and the lock
itself was facing up toward the beams in the ceiling.
Her optimism faded when he shook his head. “Are you abso-
lutely certain that neither one of you has the key?”
She glared at him.
So did Harrison.
“Hold the lock exactly where it is,” he suggested before walk-
ing off.
“Wait! Where are you going? You can’t leave now!” she cried,
tempted to stomp her foot in frustration.
He waved back at her over his shoulder. “I’ll be back in a
minute.”
Harrison sighed. “While he’s gone, perhaps you can help me
do something,” he murmured, his voice as husky and deep as
when they had first met aboard the stage.
Was the man actually flirting with her? Again? She dropped
her gaze. “What do you want me to do?” she grumbled.

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Still cradling his wrist, he moved beside her and nodded

toward his chest. “There’s a handkerchief in my vest pocket. I’d
be obliged if you’d remove it for me. Once Owens removes the
cuff from my wrist, I’ll need it to wrap the wound to stem the
bleeding.”
Harrison was not an uncommonly tall man, but compared
to her own small stature, he seemed very tall indeed. Avoiding
his gaze, Annabelle reached into the very same pocket where
he had kept the pocket watch the thieves had stolen. When her
fingertips brushed against his chest, her heartbeat quickened,
but she dismissed her reaction to him as merely a consequence
of her utter fatigue.
After tugging the monogrammed linen handkerchief free,
she took a step back and handed it out to him. “It looks clean
enough, I suppose.”
He looked down at his injured wrist and shook his head. “Since
I don’t have a free hand at the moment, perhaps you should keep
that handkerchief for me until I need it.”
Moistening her lips, she tucked the handkerchief beneath
the wooden knitting stick still safely secured to the narrow band
of fabric at her waist. Although all of the knitting needles she
usually kept stored in the sheath were now gone, including the
one she had bent trying to pick at the lock on the handcuffs, she
could one day replace them.
The knitting stick itself, however, was priceless, if only to
her. With the tip of her fingers, she traced each of the letters of
her mother’s name that her father had carved into the sheath of
wood when he made this courtship gift for her. Annabelle was
deeply grateful she had been able to convince the thieves to let
her keep it.
When Owens abruptly returned to the shop a solid five min-
utes after he had left, reality quickly consumed the memory of
her late parents. She dropped her hand away, placed her wrist

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back onto the anvil, and made certain the lock was back in place
exactly where it had been when the blacksmith left.
“Ready?” Owens asked as he placed several tools onto the
table next to the broken chain.
She rolled her eyes.
While holding the pin steady with one hand, he lifted her
wrist until there was a small gap between the U-shaped metal
band and her flesh. “Hold it right there,” he murmured and slid
a narrow wad of muslin between the metal and her wrist. “That
should help absorb some of the blows I have to make to break
the lock, but I’m afraid—”
“Just get the cuff off,” she insisted and used her other hand
to hold her arm steady. She closed her eyes and braced herself.
If he was going to end up smashing her wrist, she had no desire
to watch him. To her surprise, Harrison stepped closer to her, as
if offering his presence as support.
“Seems a shame to ruin a fine pair of Darby cuffs. I’ve only
seen one other pair. They’re rather rare,” he explained as he started
tapping at the lock.
Harrison huffed. “Apparently not rare enough if common
thieves can acquire them and use them for nefarious purposes.”
“The thieves were hardly common. Not if they deliberately
chose to target you,” she quipped, still annoyed that he had chosen
to ride the very stage on which she had also been a passenger
after his private coach had broken an axle.
“How kind of you to remind me. Then again, you seem to
have a penchant for reminding me rather often that this whole
affair is my fault,” he retorted. “If the thieves were that smart,
they would have brought along a pair of handcuffs that would
have actually fit me properly.”
“Actually, Darby cuffs are made in four or five sizes,” Owens
interjected. “But if they’d used one to fit you, sir, your wife could
have slipped her wrist right through. Then again, the cuffs are

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rare enough that they probably only used what they could get
their hands on.”
Harrison scowled at him.
“You would have fared better if you hadn’t fought the thieves
when they tried to put them on or made such a vigorous attempt
to remove them later, which only made your wrist swell even
more,” she offered.
He frowned at her.
“Actually, it’s nearly impossible to remove these cuffs without
a key. Or some good tools like mine,” Owens added proudly.
“Just do your best to remove the cuff. Quickly,” she urged
before Harrison could remind her that she had been foolish to
think she could have used one of her knitting needles to force
the lock to open.
Many long, nerve-racking taps later, she heard the lock at
the end of the pin pop free and she opened her eyes. Amazed
by how efficiently he had completed his task, she watched as
the blacksmith slid the pin free before he eased the metal band
away from her wrist. “Thank you,” she murmured as she rubbed
at the skin that had been chafed by the metal.
He grinned at her before giving Harrison a nod.
Annabelle forced herself to watch as her companion placed
his cuffed wrist onto the anvil and cringed. The flesh around
the metal band was scarlet now and even more badly swollen.
Apparently, the simple process of removing the chain holding
both cuffs together had reopened the wound and fresh blood
trickled down onto the metal anvil.
Owens studied the cuff for a moment and shook his head.
Swallowing hard, he paled. “I . . . I don’t think I can cushion the
blows at all for you, sir, but if you could just turn your wrist—”
“Just do what you have to do,” Harrison gritted.
“Wait. Just a moment,” Annabelle insisted and stepped around
him to snatch the muslin that Owens had used earlier to cushion

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her wrist from the table where he had tossed it. “Have you any
more muslin I could use to make a bandage?”
“I might be able to find more in the house. Might take a few
minutes to find it.”
“Make do with what you have,” Harrison demanded.
“Perhaps for now we could,” she replied, knowing how badly
he wanted to be free from the restraint. As she returned to her
place, she slipped his handkerchief free, ready to use both the
muslin and the handkerchief as a makeshift bandage, if necessary.
Instead of watching Owens or closing her eyes this time, she
kept her gaze squarely on Harrison’s face. With each tap on the
lock, he paled and tightened his jaw, but he stared directly down
at the anvil and made no effort to halt what must have been an
exceedingly painful process. His eyes flashed with relief when
the lock finally popped free, but he quickly shuttered his gaze
and reached forward.
She tensed and watched in horrified fascination as he pulled
the metal band free from his swollen flesh. Without hesitation, she
pressed the muslin against his wrist and quickly bound it against
the wound with his handkerchief. “Is there a doctor nearby?” she
asked the blacksmith.
“Doc Marley is—”
“The inn. How far is the inn?” Harrison asked, using the
authoritative voice that told Annabelle not to interfere.
Owens looked from Annabelle to Harrison. “About five miles.
Straight down the road, sir, but Doc Marley is—”
“How much for your services?” Harrison asked as he scooped
up the pieces of the handcuffs and shoved them into his trousers
pocket.
“Since you were robbed, and I really don’t expect—”
“How much for your services?”
“If I could keep the handcuffs, I’d be willing to call it even,”
he replied sheepishly.

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Harrison cocked a brow. “Need I repeat myself yet again?”

Owens blushed. “Fifty cents.”
Harrison bent down, undid the strap lying across his boot,
and secured a coin from a hidden pouch before fastening the
strap again.
When he put the coin on the table, Owens’s eyes widened.
“That’s ten times what you owe me. I haven’t got enough coin
to give you change.”
“You’ve earned every cent. Thank you,” he murmured, then
placed his hand at Annabelle’s back and urged her to the door.
Flabbergasted that he had any coin at all, she leaned toward
him. “I thought the robbers took everything,” she whispered,
painfully aware the thieves had taken every coin she had hidden
in the bottom of her knitting bag, which they had also stolen.
He managed half a grin. “Not everything. I travel frequently,
and I’m always prepared for the unexpected.”
“This whole sorry affair qualifies as a bit more than ‘the unex-
pected,’ ” she offered. “Why didn’t you just let the man have those
horrid handcuffs and save your coin to pay for lodging at the inn?”
He paused and glanced down at the knitting stick she wore
at her waist. “I have more coin. Besides, you have your little trea-
sure. Would you deny me mine?”
She covered the wooden heirloom with her fingertips and
sniffed. “I hardly think those handcuffs should be considered a
treasure, especially now that they’ve been reduced to nothing
more than pieces of metal. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me
why you want them, would you?”
His eyes sparkled. “Not unless you’ll tell me why that rather
ordinary hunk of wood you fought so hard to keep from the
thieves is so important to you.”
She shook her head, convinced a man of his wealth and
reputation would never understand the sentiments her father’s
courtship gift to her mother represented.

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He cocked a brow. “In that case, I’ll just let my reasons remain
secret.”
“Fine. You keep your secret and I’ll keep mine,” she retorted,
determined to keep a far more important secret to herself, as well.

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 Chapter Three

Even though the handcuffs had been removed, traveling five miles
by horseback with only a thin cambric shirt to protect Harrison
from the rapidly falling temperature would have been challenge
enough. Riding on a single horse with a brand-new wife he had
no intention of keeping, however, made the journey the most
difficult test of endurance he had ever encountered in all of his
twenty-nine years.
Or so he thought. Convincing this obstinate innkeeper he
needed separate accommodations instead of a single room was
proving to be an even greater challenge. He had little patience
left to waste arguing.
He ignored Annabelle, who stood next to him, shivering from
the cold that had taken up permanent residence in his own bones,
and spoke directly to the innkeeper with a softer tone of voice.
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, Mr. Lawrence,” he said and
dropped the last of his coins into the man’s fleshy palm—money
enough to pay for a month’s stay. “I need a room with a hot fire,
a hot bath, and a hot meal for myself. I need another room with

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 D E L I A PA R R

a hot fire, a hot bath, and a hot meal for this young lady. Two
rooms. That’s all I need.”
The balding man dropped the coins into his apron pocket and
shrugged. “I’d like to accommodate you, but the common room
upstairs that most travelers find quite comfortable has no hearth
to provide any heat at all. Even if it did, during last week’s storm,
the roof leaked pretty bad, and I haven’t been up to fixing it yet.”
“But surely you can—”
“Like I said before, I’ve only got one room available for you,
and it’s on the first floor, right next to the kitchen. I promised
Sheriff Taylor I’d have that room ready for you and your new
bride, Mr. Graymoor, and I do.” Leaning closer, he lowered his
voice to a whisper. “My wife ain’t as young as she used to be, and
she can’t climb steps so good anymore either, so it’s probably best
if you stay close to the kitchen so she can help see to your needs.”
Annabelle glanced at Harrison and frowned. “It appears you’ll
have to add another name or two to that list of people who know
about our marriage. Please do something about securing a separate
room for me. Anything. Please,” she urged, apparently as anxious
as he was to avoid sharing the same room.
He bristled. Although it was a toss-up as to whether he was
more aggravated by the fact that the innkeeper knew his name
or that Sheriff Taylor had also told the man about Harrison and
Annabelle’s marriage, he decided he was most annoyed with this
woman for reminding him, yet again, that keeping their marriage
secret might not be as easy as he had originally thought.
Sleeping in the common room without any heat was starting
to sound rather appealing, but he determined he’d try one last
time to convince Lawrence there had to be a way to provide him
with a room he did not have to share with his new wife.
Wife. Harrison shook his head. He had trouble accepting the
idea he had a wife at all, so contrary was the very word to his

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 H I D D E N Aff e c t i o n s

confirmed stance against marriage. But he calmed his agitation

with the realization that she would not be his wife for very long.
Just then a rotund woman hobbled her way over to them,
drying her hands on her soiled apron as she approached. “You must
be the Graymoors. Just look at you, poor dear thing,” she crooned,
putting her arm around Annabelle’s shoulders. She turned her
toward the large dining area, which was nearly deserted at mid-
morning, except for three elderly women sitting at a table near
the fire blazing in the hearth.
“You’re such a tiny thing it’s a wonder you didn’t freeze to
death, riding around in this cold without a proper cape to keep
you warm. Come along,” she insisted. “I’ve got a good fire going
in your room, and I’ll have hot water for your bath right quick.”
As the woman ushered her away, Annabelle looked back at
him over her shoulder, a look of pure panic etched in her features.
She mouthed, Do something.
Obviously, she was just as unhappy about sharing a room,
so Harrison made one final effort to secure separate rooms for
them. “I don’t mean to be indelicate, but after the ordeal that
my wife has experienced, she needs—”
“What that poor woman needs is a man who will stand by
and protect her reputation,” Lawrence said as his gaze hardened.
“The sheriff told me how you took advantage of that sweet,
lovely woman, so don’t bother denying it. I’d have no objection
if you took a seat over there by the fire, as I expect your wife
would like a bit of time alone before you join her. I’ll bring you
something hot to eat and drink while you’re waiting.” He turned
and walked away.
Harrison tightened his jaw. He was sorely tempted to turn
around himself, get out of this inn, and ride straight back to Phila-
delphia, leaving that “sweet, lovely woman” right here. Unfortu-
nately, the horse they had borrowed from Reverend Wood was

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 D E L I A PA R R

so old, he doubted the animal would even make it back to its

owner without a full day of rest first.
He shifted his weight to take the pressure off the wound in
his thigh he had gotten as a result of Annabelle’s attempt to force
the lock on the handcuffs—but winced when he flexed his left
wrist. In his current state, he doubted he could manage to ride
that far even if he had a strong horse. The way the temperature
was continuing to drop, he would likely freeze to death along
the way.
Resigned yet again to circumstances well beyond his control,
he glanced beyond the three women still chatting together to
the table sitting directly in front of the fire. Exhaustion, cold,
and hunger overruled caution, and he limped his way past the
trio, offering only a smile and a quick nod to acknowledge them.
Judging by their country style of dress and their conversation, he
had no fear they were women traveling to or from Philadelphia,
at least not in the same social circle he enjoyed.
He eased down on a bench positioned near the fire and rested
his bandaged wrist on his lap, grateful for the opportunity to
rest. While he avoided putting any pressure on the wound that
encircled his wrist, he slid his knees beneath the planked table
to hide the bloodstains on his trousers.
The fire quickly did its job of thawing him out. Unfortunately,
the warmer he became, the more exhausted he felt and the more
his wounds throbbed. But the warmth also helped him to think
beyond mere survival, which was a greater blessing.
“Blessing,” he murmured and shook his head. There was not
a single blessing to be found in this whole wretched affair, but
he was not surprised. He could not recall a single instance in the
past twenty-odd years when God had shown that He really cared
about him—which made it quite easy to rely on his own wits,
instead of the faith he had been raised to claim.

_
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 H I D D E N Aff e c t i o n s

Two hours later Harrison had a full stomach, but he was barely
able to follow Mrs. Lawrence and limp into his room for want
of sleep—deep, healing sleep that would give him some respite
from the constant pain in his wrist and thigh. Once he was inside
the room, he was relieved to see that Annabelle was already
slumbering, but he gave up any hope that the innkeeper’s wife
would quickly take her leave when she closed the door behind
them and pressed a finger to her lips.
“I’ve got fresh hot water in the tub for you, and I set some
bandages out right next to the towels, just like your wife asked
me to do. Just be very, very quiet. And don’t you dare wake your
wife. You’ve done quite enough to her already,” she admonished.
The accusatory look in her eyes and the tone of her voice
made it perfectly clear that she expected him to refrain from
exercising his husbandly rights, even before she hobbled her way
to the door, turned, and shook her finger at him. “That poor thing
needs her rest,” she added before easing the door closed behind
her, completely unaware that he had no intention of sharing the
marriage bed with the woman sleeping just a few feet away from
him. Or any other woman, for that matter.
As he tiptoed several steps to the tub, which was on the floor
on the far side of the small room between the bed and the fire
blazing in the hearth, he studied the only woman who would ever
carry his name. The matted blond hair that had framed her face
now lay in shimmering waves on the pillow. Beneath her closed
eyes, which he remembered as being a pale shade of green, dark
shadows testified to her total exhaustion. Her cheeks were chafed
pink from being exposed to the harsh winter elements for too
long and marred the porcelain complexion he recalled as flawless
when he had first met her upon boarding the stage in Hanover.
A huge mound of blankets and quilts concealed her lean,
diminutive form, but he had already been surprised by the wom-
anly curves he had inadvertently discovered last night when she

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had turned to him in her sleep and he had held her close to his
side to keep them both warm.
“Sad to say, that wasn’t the first mistake I made during this
regrettable trip,” he muttered, but blamed the subtle scent of
summer roses she had worn for distracting him from using his
common sense. He closed his mind before he replayed the entire
fiasco that had begun by his paying far too much attention to
Camille Jenkins while staying at his country estate.
In all truth, when it came to women, he did not discriminate.
Short or tall, raven-haired or blond, single or married, he found
them all equally fascinating and enjoyed flirting with them. When
pressed, however, he did have to admit to a particular fondness
for dark-haired, voluptuous women—women exactly like Camille.
Vowing to confine his interests to single women in the
future, he eased out of his vest and shirt. He tossed them both
to the floor in disgust. The only person he could rightfully
blame for ending up in this mess was himself. If he had not
fallen asleep holding Annabelle, placing them both in a very
compromising position, he would have heard the sheriff and
his band of rescuers ride up. There was nothing he could have
done, at least at that point, to keep Camille’s husband from
pressing the sheriff to do something to avenge his wife’s honor,
but he never expected the sheriff to force him into a marriage
he clearly did not want.
Stooping down, he tugged the marriage certificate he had
commandeered from Annabelle out of his vest pocket, took the
pieces of the handcuffs out of his trousers pocket, and placed
everything next to the towels stacked on a small table by the
tub. Once he had pulled off his boots, which was no easy task
one-handed, he tucked the treasures inside of one of his boots.
“Treasures indeed,” he murmured. They were far too impor-
tant to his plans for an annulment to leave them lying about in

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 H I D D E N Aff e c t i o n s

full view, and he had no intention of revealing the reason he had

kept the handcuffs, either.
The other women he had known who were as young, petite,
and fair as Annabelle had been nearly devoid of any intellect, let
alone common sense. Annabelle, however, was surprisingly differ-
ent. She was clearly very bright, and if she gave it any thought,
she should be able to figure out the reason he wanted to keep
the handcuffs.
He could not prove he had had a rifle pressed at his back at
Reverend Wood’s, but the handcuffs were hard evidence that
they had both been coerced into marriage, even if the scar he
knew he would carry on his wrist did not suffice.
Since Annabelle had been as opposed to the marriage as he
had been, he had no fear she might be attracted by his wealth
and tempt him to consummate the union. He had successfully
eluded women far more determined to marry him than this one
to avoid the heartache and grief that marriage eventually would
bring into his life. He was equally confident that his very compe-
tent, very expensive lawyer would be able to arrange for a quiet
annulment before anyone in Philadelphia heard the faintest bit
of gossip that might reach the city.
Satisfied he had regained control of his life, he turned and
studied Annabelle for several long minutes. When he was abso-
lutely certain she was in a deep sleep, he attempted to remove
his trousers but stopped almost immediately. The blood caked
on them had dried so stiffly that he knew he would rip open the
hole she had punched into his thigh with one of those knitting
needles of hers if he forced off his trousers. Instead, he eased
into the tub while still wearing them to let the warm water work
through the dried blood first.
He had to sit rather awkwardly and bend his knees to fit into
the tub. Once he got as comfortable as he was going to be, he
grabbed one of the towels from the table, folded it into a makeshift

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pillow, leaned back, and closed his eyes. He’d remain just until
the warm water did its job on his trousers and eased out every
last bit of cold in his bones, as well. Then he’d fully undress and
wash himself clean, make a bed on the floor out of some of those
quilts, and get a well-deserved night’s sleep.

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